


The Sound of Red

by raengst



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Descent into Madness, Gen, Psychological Horror, an attempt at least, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27381349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raengst/pseuds/raengst
Summary: The people have been going mad. There’s a voice on the radio and you can hear his smile.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) & Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	The Sound of Red

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by [hand-in-hand-again](https://hand-in-hand-again.tumblr.com/)'s art on tumblr. Super gorgeous, with wonderful horror vibes. I highly recommend you give them a look see.

**_What sound does the color red make?_** the radio asks.

You grunt before quickly changing the station, switching to something country just get away from the voice. It’s been following you these last few weeks, whispering and hissing in your car radio. It was sparse at first, but now it’s every day, every time you turn on the car.

The voice sounds like a man from decades ago. His voice is warm and inviting but there’s also something deeply unhinged hidden within his question. Detached from all humanity. Other.

You’re not the only one who’s been hearing it. Many people have been talking about a cruel voice on the radio pestering them with the same question. Some have said all their stations are corrupted. They claim there’s an ever present static in their brain.

You thought they were crazy at first, thought it was all nonsense. But then the voice on the radio started haunting you, and now you’re wondering if you’re crazy. You don’t mention it to anybody, you’re hoping it all just go away soon.

It doesn’t.

It will never go away.

Static cuts through the music, harsh and grating, and it makes you jerk on the wheel. Just a little, it’s easy enough to right yourself, though your heart is pounding.

**_What sound does the color red make?_** the radio asks again.

You breathe hard, staring down the road in front of you. The same damn question. Every damn time. It rattles in your brain along with the static. You end up focusing in on it, trying to apply sounds to the color. Red as a sound. What does that mean?

_Something angry,_ you think. _Like yelling and shouting._

**_Yes, that’s a good start._ **

Your breath catches in your throat at the reply, knuckles white from your grip on the steering wheel. You glance down at the car radio, not sure what you’re expecting to see. But there’s nothing. It’s completely normal, nothing strange or out of place from the outside.

“Hello?” you ask aloud.

No reply. The static cuts out and the country music resumes playing. You’re left trembling for the rest of the trip as unease eats you alive.

You avoid the car for a few days until you’re left needing some groceries. All the while, the news seems to get more hectic. People looking frantic, gripping their heads, yelling about the voice on the radio invading their every thought. There’s been an increase in murders. They claim a demon on the radio manipulated them in to doing so.

Your hands are shaking, keys rattling as you stick them in the ignition. The car comes to life and the first thing to greet you is the sharp pierce of static.

**_What sound does the color red make?_ **

You grind your teeth together and ignore him. Pulling out of the driveway and making your way to the store, the static never leaves even when you flip channels.

He asks the same question after a long pause, expectant. You sigh heavily, thinking your answer over.

“Love. Passion. Warm and inviting tones. Comforting voices.”

**_How fake. I liked your first answer better,_** the voice hums. **_It showed your real character._**

“You don’t know me,” you hiss.

**_I know everything about you, darling._ **

The static vanishes and something pop starts playing. You glare down the road, seething in anxious rage. He doesn’t know anything about you. He’s just a disembodied voice from the car radio. So what if he replied to your thoughts a few days ago? Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter!

You breathe hard, grip tight on the wheel, insides twisting. Maybe you’re going crazy. Maybe you’re like the people on the news. You hope not. Please no. Please, please no.

During the ride home from the store, you find yourself relaxing to some old classic rock. Your finger keeps up with the rhythm, tapping against the wheel. You almost feel peaceful again for the first time in weeks. But it doesn’t last long.

The music cuts out and his voice returns.

**_Something angry, like shouting and yelling. These are some of the sounds that the color red makes. What else?_ **

You frown, giving in. “Alarms blaring, horns honking. Crashing and banging.”

**_Gun shots?_ **

You hum, nodding your head.

**_What about screaming?_ **

“Yeah.”

Screaming is red. Blood-curdling screams of pain and terror, agonized horror. Blood, of course, is red. And it makes sounds. Splattering against walls, dripping and oozing on floors. The pounding of a heart against one’s ribs.

**_The tearing and ripping of flesh._ **

You stare at the radio, a chill running down your spine.

“Yes.”

He laughs and slowly fades away until old classic rock is playing again. You’re left on edge for the rest of the ride home. You try to take steadying breaths, but everything’s shaking. Those thoughts of violence aren’t you. You’re not like that. You swear!

He—the voice on the radio—the _demon_ is manipulating you. He’s in your head, static fingers clawing through your brain, digging in deep, spitting poison into your mind. You are not a monster.

You firmly tell yourself this as you step into your house, and it helps ease your mind a bit. He’s just messing with you, trying make you crazy, but you won’t fall for it. You’re better than him. You better than it. You’re a good person.

Nightmares plague your sleep that night. Screams of agony, gushing blood spilling onto the floor. Static fills your brain as red stains your hands. It’s not your blood. You’re smiling. A red figure beside you smiles as well. He digs claws into your back. In your ear he whispers:

**_Well done._ **

You jerk awake and decide sleep just isn’t for you tonight. You wander the house, the floor creaking under your weight. The red figure haunts you on the edges of your vision, but every time you try to look in his direction he disappears.

You try to get your breathing under control as you pour yourself a glass of water. Your hand trembles as you bring it to your lips.

The TV suddenly blares to life in the living room, making you jump and nearly drop the glass. You rush out of the kitchen to see the news playing and begin looking for the remote. There’s been a multitude of murders. The people have gone insane, nails digging into their scalps.

_“He’s in my head!”_

_“The demon on the radio!”_

_“Make it stop!”_

Someone screams right as you find the remote and turn the TV off. Your heart is pounding, insides twisting in anxiety. You focus on breathing again, trying to stay calm and in control.

**_Why bother?_** a voice in your head whispers, making you freeze. **_Let yourself fall. Break down._**

It’s the voice from the radio, clear as day in your head. It’s as if he’s merged himself with your own thoughts. You swear you can feel his claws raking through your brain, something horrid pounding within your skull. You can hear the smile in his words.

You grip your head. “Get out!”

**_Shatter apart,_** he hisses. **_I’ll pick up the pieces for you._**

“Shut up!”

**_What sound does the color red make?_ **

“No!”

**_Tell me!_ **

You shake your head, frantic, tears spilling down your face. The cracks are there, you’re splitting open from the inside, a monster waiting to get out. The demon reaches down into your soul and squeezes it. You collapse to the floor, gasping for air.

He tastes like corruption on your tongue, acid creeping up the back of your throat. His claws dig in further, he spits poison into the wounds. You writhe in pain on the floor until he finally crushes your soul in his hands. The remnants drip down his arms as he licks his fingers.

**_What sound does the color red make?_** he asks again. **_Tell me._**

“Blood,” you whisper.

_Gushing, spilling, dripping blood._

**_Yes._ **

The monster that had been hidden within takes over and it is you. You are the monster. You roll and push yourself to your feet. Everything blurs in a static grain. You grab a knife from the kitchen, fingers curling around the handle like it’s an old friend.

You leave the house, bare feet padding against the sidewalk. You’re not the only out on the streets at night. People are yelling and screaming in agony and fear. Some are running away, others are in the midst of a chase. You stalk, slow and careful, with purpose. Someone cowers by their car, shaking hands unable to keep a steady grip on their keys.

The color red has many sounds. You know this as you draw out screams from your victim on the ground, the knife plunging in and out, blood splattering all over you. You smile at the sounds, pleased at the melodies you manage to drag out.

The demon smiles as well.

**_Yes. Red is such a beautiful sound._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Aye ❤  
> Also this was my first reader insert fic. Had a lot of fun with it. Let me know what you think!


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